


lay your weary head to rest

by bluebeholder



Series: 3+1 Coda Fic [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fix-It, Happy Ending, M/M, so here you go, that finale was an affront to humankind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:41:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: Dean and Sam rescue Cas from the Empty. There are pancakes, first, and a confession, second.And, finally, a happy ending.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: 3+1 Coda Fic [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/693354
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	lay your weary head to rest

**Author's Note:**

> What it says on the tin. Small references to the previous fic in this series to properly link it together, but honestly if you ignore that, it still makes sense. So...enjoy. I hope this helps. <3

For a while, Dean sits on the cold floor.

And then he gets up, because there’s a job to do.

When all’s said and done and God (God—where did their lives go so off the rails?) is out of the picture, they have the means. They have the will. And they have Jack on their side. It takes a little more blood, sweat, and tears than usual, but the right circles get drawn and the right spells get chanted. 

Turns out that old handprint scar makes for a _great_ tracker, wandering through the Empty.

Sam makes the requisite Sleeping Beauty jokes, though Dean thinks this is a little more Snow White. This wasn’t a curse. This was a stupid deal, as bad as taking a bite of an apple offered by a witch.

They can’t _kill_ the Empty. But, on behalf of the new Power That Is, they can negotiate. Reinstate old terms, and add a clause that no one will bother the Empty anymore. No noise. No waking up anyone or anything—except for one.

The post-Rapture world is a _mess_.

Really, Dean doesn’t care. He’s happy that Sam found Eileen, that their friends and everyone else have returned to the world. Of course he is.

He’s got more important things on his mind.

The Bunker is quiet. A tired kind of quiet, the aftermath of victory. Which actually feels like victory, this time. 

Dean tries not to make too much noise, making breakfast. Or whatever meal this is, he isn’t sure. It’s been a little while since he checked a clock. But, since he’s expecting someone to wake up, this counts as breakfast. Right? He sets down plates with care, avoids scraping the spatula on the pan when flipping pancakes. Doesn’t even play any music. 

He takes a plate of blueberry pancakes, carefully balanced with fork and maple syrup, back to Cas’ room. Despite limping—the whole “fighting God” thing did a number on him, even with divine intervention—he doesn’t drop anything. The door is ajar and he opens it carefully. Cas is awake this time, sitting up in bed with the blanket over his lap, looking exhausted and still a little disoriented. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Dean says.

And out of Cas’ mouth comes the most Cas thing he’s ever said: “You didn’t bring any for yourself.”

Dean starts to argue, and stops. He hands Cas his plate and says, “I’ll be right back.”

Ten minutes later, he returns with his own plate. His are burned on the outside and undercooked within, from making them too fast, but that really, really doesn’t matter. Cas has inhaled half his plate, clearly trying and failing to pace himself.

“No IHOP in the Empty, huh?”

“There’s nothing in the Empty. That’s the _point_.”

Dean should tease, or crack a joke, or...he doesn’t know what to say. So he points at Cas’ pancakes with his fork. “Finish those, or I will.”

Cas finishes them. Then he finishes Dean’s. No comment on the cooking. 

And then they do what they’ve been doing for eleven years: look at each other. 

“I meant what I said,” Cas says, after the long, loaded silence. 

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I guessed the Empty wouldn’t have…uh, shown up, if you didn’t mean it.”

Cas shrugs. Plays with the edge of the blanket. Doesn’t say anything.

“Is it,” Dean starts, and stops. He rubs the back of his neck. Cas watches him, curious. Tired. “Is it bad to say I’ve known for a while?”

“How long?”

“I, uh, overheard a conversation,” Dean says. “It was...three years ago? Seems like a lot longer. You told Sam you wouldn’t speak up, something about losing your Grace or whatever, so I just kept my mouth shut.”

“Oh.”

Dean shrugs. “And then there was the whole you getting stabbed thing. You sort of told us then. I got the message.”

With a sigh, Cas leans back. “We,” he says, “are a pair of _fools_.”

“Yeah.”

The Bunker is quiet again. They’re not looking at each other anymore. It’s less charged now. More awkward. Dean considers taking the dishes to the kitchen, just escaping this moment, but...shit. He brought Cas back just to have this conversation. 

“I’m sorry,” he says eventually. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” Cas says. Dean looks at him and sees Heaven-blue eyes looking back, bright and weirdly calm. “I knew there was every probability you didn’t return my feelings. I’m not human, after all, it—”

“What the _fuck_ , Cas,” Dean says. “I—how do you—I do, you idiot.”

Cas freezes. 

“I’m—I don’t like saying things,” Dean says. He gestures at everything and nothing. “I don’t know what to say. I’m not good at it. And I thought you—shit, you didn’t seem like you wanted me to know, I—”

“Dean,” Cas says, “ _stop_.”

Dean stops. 

Cas sits up again and reaches for his hand. It takes everything Dean has not to panic, but he lets it happen. Notes that Cas is really warm. 

His gaze is steady, fixed on Dean’s. “I love you, Dean Winchester.”

“I…”

The words don’t come. 

So Dean swallows hard and pulls Cas in, hugging him as tight as possible. Cas laughs, a little bit breathless, and hugs him back. He’s solid and warm and very, very alive, and Dean would like to keep him that way. 

“No more deals,” he says quietly, into Cas’ shoulder. 

“The same goes for you,” Cas says. 

Dean laughs and leans back a little, holding Cas by the shoulders. “Yeah.” He searches Cas’ face for any hesitation and sees only...joy. The kind of expression only an angel truly rejoicing could wear. It shakes Dean just a little. “We good…?”

“Better than good,” Cas says.

It’s weird, Dean thinks, that this isn’t giving him any kind of...of butterflies. No fireworks. Just this vast, quiet sense of peace, like he’s known all along where this would end. Like there was never really any doubt. 

If there’s any proof he’s getting older, it’s this: they don’t spend the next hour in bed. A younger Dean would have, and a younger Cas would probably have gone along with it. Instead, they go back to the kitchen. Dean finishes making the rest of the pancakes, all of which Cas eats. They do the dishes, together. They talk of inconsequential things, like the Rapture and the dethroning of God. Things that don’t really matter to either of them. 

It turns out that, after all, it’s almost nine at night. Dean’s not sure how long he’s been awake, but the second he sees the clock it all hits him like a wave. “Exhausted” doesn’t start to cover it.

None of the beds are big enough to fit both of them, or accommodate anything a younger Dean would have suggested, especially when Dean is still one giant bruise and Cas is asleep on his feet. So Cas helps Dean drag an air mattress into his room and set it up by his bed. Between Cas and the door.

“You could take the bed,” Cas says again. 

“Cas,” Dean says, looking up from whatever the hell is going on with the shop vac as it refuses to turn on, “my turn to watch over you.”

And then, when the lights are off, the butterflies show up. 

“I feel like a teenager,” Dean grumbles, staring at the ceiling, entire brain zeroed in on the feeling of Cas’ hand in his.

“I gather these fluttery feelings are common, if romance novels are to be believed.” Cas pauses. “I don’t usually believe them.”

“Butterflies are a teenager thing.”

“Not butterflies,” Cas says patiently. “ _Moths._ Butterflies don’t come out at night, Dean.”

Dean looks up at Cas, ready to make a sarcastic comment, but in the thin light from under the door, he can see Cas smiling down at him. Teasing him. Dean returns the smile, feeling as ridiculous and sappy as if he’s landed in a romance novel himself.

They hold hands as they fall asleep. For a minute, Dean isn’t sure he’ll be able to. But he’s weary enough that this terrible air mattress feels like a king’s bed, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to get some decent rest for the first time in...his life, maybe. 

And when he wakes up, for the first time in his life, he has no doubts that Cas will be there. It won’t last forever, of course: the world hasn’t magically been cleared of all the things that go bump in the night. Sooner or later, and it will probably be sooner, they’ll get a call that there’s a ghost or a vampire or a werewolf out there terrorizing the innocent. And they’ll go, because that’s what they _do_. Saving people. Hunting things. The family business. 

With his _whole_ family, now. 

Dean’s never believed in happy endings.

This, though?

Heaven itself couldn’t give him better. 


End file.
